Has anyone else ever felt that by discussing their stories, world, characters, ect with other people, their work is... actualized in a way? Made more real & independant from themself? Not that it isn't tangible or 'real' while submerged in the incubatory, prenatal recesses of the authorial mind or that a work of art ever truly becomes seperate of its creator, but rather that positive outside recognition reaffirms the unique & self-sufficient, stand-alone worth of a piece, as distinct from, but still a part of oneself... eh, I'm having trouble wording it. I can't help but think of some of the paintings I've done. Standing in the gallery, essentially anonymous, watching fellow human beings absorbing not only the better part of what I meant to imply, but what those implications mean to them personally, how it fits into their lives... it seems to give the work 'life' in a way, by making it bigger than myself... a vehicle of emotional stimulation/inspiration for the enrichment of my brethren - beyond my own pretenses of personal expression or recognition. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, personally, this sense of... creation, is probably the greatest satisfaction I reap from the art of the word, & wonder if this motivation is poignant to all writers, or only wierdos like myself. Yeah, that's it pretty much. Thanks.